


Recorded History

by lightningwaltz



Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: First Time, M/M, Resolved Sexual Tension, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, basically a lot of tension, post Ark arc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-14
Updated: 2016-09-14
Packaged: 2018-08-15 02:36:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8039116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightningwaltz/pseuds/lightningwaltz
Summary: They know how to play the same game over and over again.





	Recorded History

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Findarato](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Findarato/gifts).



> 1\. I've been wanting to write Lavi/Allen for years. I am super fascinated by their similarities. They both tend to take on a certain persona, while hiding a lot of turmoil and uncertainty. Despite this, they almost seem to... cancel out each other's seriousness at times? They do seem to have a lot of fun together. This fic is set during that time where everyone is recuperating from the Ark, because that was particularly emotionally revealing. 
> 
> 2\. And this is a birthday gift for Cal because Cal is amazing and one of the first things we ever did together was talk about DGM.

“Hey Allen, do you want to go for a walk?”

Lavi’s question is laughably perceptive. Does Allen want to walk? Up until now, the answer has always been _yes._

Coming from anyone else, Allen might chalk it coincidence. When he looks over at Lavi, he isn’t fooled by the way he curls into the blanket like a little kid. Clutching the sheets to his chin, clearly a bit tired but not wanting to sleep. Allen recalls the swarm of impossible keys, and how they’d cast shivering, bruise-like shadows over Lavi’s face. He’d still found the real one in the end. 

Pondering this, Allen wants to escape his own skin and inhabit Lavi’s. What is it like to remember everything you see, taste, touch, experience? For most people, certain scraps of memory always disintegrate. The act of remembering is like prodding a husk of burnt coal. Everything just floats away. 

Not so for Lavi, apparently. And that’s rather cruel, actually. 

“Are you going to answer me or are you just going to stare?” Lavi’s tone could be described as jovial. If you didn’t know him well.

Allen has definitely been staring but not quite seeing. So he scrutinizes Lavi’s face and tries to find an acceptable reason for gawking. Something that slots neatly into this cautious, side-stepping waltz they do with each other now. 

It’s hard, though. There aren’t any crumbs or stains on Lavi’s face (he hasn’t been gorging himself just now. He’s not like Allen.) The headband isn’t on. Lavi’s hair really is a nice thing, especially this way. All softly flopped over his forehead and on the pillow, curving like sweeps of paint. Some wispy, alluring, pre-Raphaelite thing.

Allen really can’t say that either, though he does find himself almost smiling at the thought of what might happen if he did. The kind of blustering response it might inspire. That wanting- to goad, to tease- it’s all so foreign to him. Sure, he knows how to put on a mask of good cheer. He’s leads others when he’s falling apart inside. This, though… it’s an ominous portent. The very thing that warns him that he’s in trouble. 

“I’m glad the burn on your face is healing so fast,” Allen says at last. A touch quickly. 

Lavi hadn’t fooled Allen before. Allen’s not fooling Lavi now. 

But at least they’re both gracious enough not to say it. 

“Thanks?” Lavi sits up. The hospital shirt is loose on him, and its collar shifts around. It reveals skin. And then it conceals skin when Lavi makes an errant tug. “Seriously though, want to get out of here?” 

“Yes, let’s go.” 

After all, Allen is starting to notice the taste of his food. Never a good sign. Normally, it’s all about the initial elation of teeth sinking into sustenance. His innocence and stomach (in that order) clamoring _finally, finally, finally_. Sure, Allen has his preferences, but mostly he consumes. It’s one of the few times he lets animal pleasure devour his meticulousness. 

Clearly he’s past that, in this moment. He’s working on some kind of pastry. Slowly. There’s cardamom in it, which takes him back to India. There’s rosewater syrup, which makes him think of winging his way up through the Arabian Peninsula, traveling halfway across the world. 

Memories are what keeps him walking, yes. Sometimes he wishes they could be neatly divided into segments and put away until they had their proper use. Like a butcher deciding what should be used immediately, and what should be dried for the winter.

He sets his food aside, willing down something close to nausea. He and Lavi put on shirts to go over their medical bay outfits. Krory’s stomach is roaring even as they make it out into the hallway. 

“Where are we going?” Allen asks, and Lavi just shrugs. 

“Away from there.”

“So you have no plans,” Allen snipes. He knows it’s a luxury to have no pressing goals, but idleness scares him. 

“Hey, this place is big. We’ll find something to do.” Lavi pats Allen on the back and there’s something self-conscious about it. And then there’s something lingering about it. 

Allen tries to call up the exact moment it became alright for Lavi to touch him. 

Aimlessly wandering isn’t one of his talents. Oddly enough, it doesn’t seem like one of Lavi’s either. Allen knows Lavi doesn’t have some sneaky end goal in mind, but there’s a sense of futility all the same. They don’t pass by any other people, and Allen is grateful for that. There’s a veil of dread separating him from nearly everyone else, and he envies almost everyone he sees. He even envies them their problems. The fact that they feel ownership of them. 

“Wasn’t this Suman Dark’s room?” Allen has been almost drifting along, but this door gives him a reason to stop. Reflect on other things. 

And Lavi immediately says “yes,” even though there’s no obvious markers or name cards. Thinking about Suman reminds Allen of the sensation of his heart being eaten. The forest trees above, dappled with silver, much too beautiful to witness what had happened that night. 

So he wonders about Lavi instead. What microscopic things Lavi must have seen in the door in order to be so sure. 

Allen reaches for the knob and tries to turn it. It’s locked. There won’t be any answers here, and it would be silly to hope for something that easy. That kind of pat symbolism was one of the weapons of the Noah, anyway and… and he doesn’t want anything else linking him to them. 

“Did you also break and enter to get money for Cross’s debts?” Lavi asks, and Allen just gives him a side long look. “Yeah. I bet you did.” Lavi says that a little lower, and something shivers in Allen’s ribcage.

“Of course not.” 

Allen’s inquisitiveness must be appealing. As they walk on, Lavi stops and tries to open every room that appears to be empty. Most are barred shut, just like Suman’s room. One opens to Lavi, though, and Allen waits for the grumpy shout of its occupant. Someone who had been indulging in the rare nap, maybe, and forgot to bar the door. 

“It’s empty,” Lavi trills in a stage whisper, before striding on inside. Allen follows. 

Indeed. There’s not a lot of dust. The bed even has clean sheets and blankets on it. Allen thinks about all the rooms they’ve passed, all the upkeep that must go into them. Rooms for long-gone exorcists. Rooms for replacements that might never come.

The air is tense with disuse, hinting at years of emptiness. 

“ _Huh_.” That’s Lavi’s judgement. He scratches the back of his head casually. So many of his gestures bring to mind a roguishly charming character in a novel. At first, that had alternately annoyed and alarmed Allen. Now, though, he’s just tense with sympathy. It must be a lot of work to do that. 

Allen ambles around the room. When he taps his innocence-laden fingers against the windowsill, the empty space amplifies the sound. He nearly winces. 

“Sorry, this is probably boring. Did you want to go outside or something?” Not that there are many places to go. 

He’s halfway to the door when Lavi stops him with a hand to the shoulder. It lingers a little too long, and Allen can’t stop himself from noticeably staring. 

“Wait, hold up. Check this out.” 

Lavi pulls back then stomps back and forth from one end of the room to the other. He’s basically marching. It’s all appropriately dramatic. 

“That doesn’t seem like very effective exercise, Lavi,” Allen jokes, even though he knows that’s not the answer. For all his frivolity, Lavi always has his reasons for things. “Not unless you do that a hundred more times.” 

“No, no, no, come on. Listen.” He does the routine again. Slower, more deliberate. “Do you hear it?” 

Thud, thud, thud, _boom_. The change isn’t noticeable unless you’re primed to hear it. However, It’s absolutely there. Only Lavi would notice something like this right away.

“Oh.” Allen kneels immediately. “I think this floor pane is hollow.” 

Lavi makes some clicking sound with his tongue, and gestures with his hands, and it probably adds up to _you got it!_

Suddenly they’re like two kids in a serialized adventure tale. They scrounge around for secret passages, and Allen realizes he’s joined the story Lavi is always trying to write. He tries to temper his own excitement, because this isn’t the kind of place that would hide anything delightful. 

“Wait, should we be tearing this place up?” That question comes from Lavi, actually. 

Allen looks away from their hands, splayed across the floor. Close together actually. Meeting Lavi’s eye doesn’t comfort Allen, but it does make him smile. 

“Better to ask forgiveness than permission.”

Lavi’s whistle is low and admiring. “It’s scary the way you say things like that.” 

“Maybe. But I think you still want to know what’s going on here.” 

“That’s also true.” 

It takes a while to find a way to pry the panel open. Allen suspects the previous occupant had used some kind of tool to do it. He imagines an innocence-infused screwdriver and nearly laughs. 

“What’s so funny?” Lavi asks, but in that moment they manage to complete the task. The floorboard flies open and bangs down. Quite a lot of dust floats out and Lavi sneezes with gusto. 

“So what do we have here? Buried treasure or what?”

“I’m just seeing a plain box.” 

Lavi reaches down but Allen stops him. His fingers close around Lavi’s wrist, and he feels a pulse spike up. His? Lavi’s? Everything’s all wound together, but it makes him move away slowly, like someone backing away from a wild animal. 

“Let me do it. We don’t know what’s down there.” Allen holds his other hand up. The one he normally uses to destroy. It can probably handle whatever is in there if it’s dangerous. 

The box clatters as he pulls it up to the surface. Nothing about it seems abnormal, so he tentatively swipes it clean with his plain hand. 

Allen’s first reaction is crashing disappointment. A cold fluttering in his gut. 

“Oh.” His sigh pushes some more dust around. 

“Backgammon? _Really_?” Lavi scrounges around in the hidden compartment and this time Allen can’t think of a reason to stop him. 

“Is there anything else?” 

“Yeah.” Lavi slams it down onto the floor. “A packet of cards. Hurray.”

Allen does a mock shudder, almost Lavi-like in its performance. “No thank you. Not that.” 

That earns him a laugh. “You aren’t think of playing backgammon are you?” 

“Erm.” Not really. Although there’s not much else to do today. “It could be okay to do that. This wasn’t the most fashionable game in gambling dens after all.” No bad associations.

They end up setting up the board, mostly to give their fingers something to do. Allen avoids touching the red pieces. They remind him of his eye. 

“Maybe backgammon will come back into fashion and you’ll have to learn how to cheat at this too,” Lavi says, as they begin to move pieces around. “It’s 5,000 years old, after all. It could make a comeback.” 

“Wait, seriously?” Allen imagines people playing this in the shade of newly built pyramids. “That can’t be true.” 

“Completely serious.” Lavi is smiling but he holds Allen’s gaze, the way he does when he means something. His lips thin out, like he’s holding back from rambling. 

That bit of trivia makes everything more poignant to Allen. The former occupant of this room probably hid this ancient, ancient game, sometimes breaking it out to have a bit of contraband fun with … someone. Someone who’s also probably dead by now. He imagines those nameless people as shapeless ghosts, joining ghosts from across the millennia, settling down to play. 

It’s a charming fantasy, and he quickly exorcises it as neatly as he exorcises the akuma. He releases all the long dead, until it’s just him and Lavi. Just the two of them in this sparse room.

Allen isn’t sure why simple enjoyment seems like a noble goal when they’re together. Merriment isn’t really an end in and of itself. Not for Allen, and not for Lavi, either. There’s something almost alchemical about their temperaments. Isolate them, combine them, and their negatives produce something miraculous.

They produce fun.

That’s probably why he’s laughing when he realizes he’s won. 

“I can’t believe it,” Allen says, overloud. “I’ve only played this once, maybe. But I still beat you!” It’s probably ugly of him, but there’s an odd sense of victory here. 

“Yeah, but you’re a cheater. There’s no way you won fairly,” Lavi whines, reaching for Allen’s human hand. He digs around in the sleeve, trying to find hidden pieces. And they laugh up until they have to stop.

They have to stop because Lavi stays there, just below Allen’s sleeve. His gestures are no longer frantic attempts to prove Allen’s duplicitousness. There’s just a slow slide of his fingers over Allen’s wrist. This tender part of his body, just above his veins. Back and forth. Up and down.

_How much does Lavi remember?_

Does Lavi recall it? The embrace in the Ark? Allen’s arms holding Lavi hard? 

Allen certainly remembers the scrape of the wall at his back. The weight of Lavi’s body, the weight of everything Lavi had concealed. 

“Lavi.” _You really do remember me_. Allen’s throat goes dry at the thought of that. It really is as though they’re still gasping on the ground, breathing in ash, breathing in Lavi’s return. 

Maybe Allen will never leave the Ark. 

A sudden emptiness. Lavi has pulled away while Allen had been drowning. But at least he throws him a joke, and it becomes a makeshift life raft. 

“Guess you weren’t cheating after all.” Normally Lavi would feign some sort of snicker. This close Allen is reminded of the way that single eye looks so very old. “Or maybe I just can’t prove it. You’re pretty smart.”

“That almost sounded like a compliment.” Allen wonders what would happen if he closed his own eyes, and pressed their lips together. So he keeps the words flowing. If he’s talking, he can’t kiss someone. “I’m proud of you.” 

“You bring out the best in me.”

“Do you want to do it all again?” Allen asks, all feigned brightness. 

And Lavi is all feigned liveliness. “Yeah. _Yeah._ I’m keeping close watch on you. No shenanigans this time.” 

And so they clear the board, and put the pieces back in place. It’s always been like this with them. They know how to start from the beginning. They know how to play the same game over and over again. 

*

_It really is true, you know. Backgammon is seriously old._

Sure, it had seen some adjustments here and there, but certain aspects of it have had a lot of continuity over the millennia. Entire language systems have been destroyed by time, and yet he and Allen can play the same game that might have entertained pharaohs. 

Lavi fixates on this because he doesn’t want to go down other routes. All roads lead to Rome, but all thoughts seem to lead to memories of touching Allen. 

“5,000 years,” Allen muses, like he’s plucked some of Lavi’s thoughts clean out of his head. He’s done this before, and will probably do it again. “That’s impressive. Although apparently the Ark is older?” 

“Yes, that is true.” 7,000 years. It makes Lavi strangely angry. Maybe because that’s from before recorded time. A time that not even the Bookmen can reach. 

Not that writing preserves everything. Baghdad and Alexandria had had their great libraries destroyed. Writing seems to flicker in and out of the human consciousness, and sometimes entire regions forget how to do it for centuries at a time. Those ghostly eras are why the Bookmen became necessary. Even if they neutrally guard the whole truth of the world, at least there are always living souls that carry the memory of _everything_. 

If Lavi abandons that path, he might as well be someone who disfigures hieroglyphs, or burns the original copy of a sacred text. He might as well have burned down all those libraries on his own. 

He plays with Allen and thinks about alphabets swirling over paper. His companion is easy to imagine as such, sometimes. He’s pale, sharply wrought, like he’s fashioned from ink and parchment. Lavi briefly wonders if this is a result of his eyepatch. Sometimes it flattens the world out, making everything into a mural devoted to war. But no. He’d been deep into Road’s fantasy, but his ribcage still seems to carry the memory of Allen’s arms. How they’d held onto Lavi’s torso. That memory reminds him that there are many dimensions to Allen. 

_Damn. I am seriously in trouble._

It’s a juvenile thought, a juvenile reaction. Until he joined the Order, he’d been burning through several identities a year. One for each war. His childhood self is a meaningless incarnation, just like all the others. And yet… He had been six when he’d started on this journey. Six years to linger in one role. It’s still there, refusing to give way, like the core of an apple. 

“Um. It’s your move, Lavi.”

And every time Allen calls him by name, he responds instantly. His heart beats a little faster; _yes, that’s me._ Even though it isn’t. He’s inhabited this role for two years, though, and he’s growing into it. But it’s not him. 

He can’t be Lavi. 

Their second stab at the game crawls at a snail’s pace. There’s a whole lot of throat clearing. There’s a whole lot of stolen glances that last a beat too long. Like Lavi, Allen is _very, very good_ at obfuscation, but short moments have a habit of piling up into one long pause. An interlude where they can breathe and finally enjoy their reunion. 

_Yeah. I’m really in trouble._

By the standards of most, they haven’t transgressed. He’s only held Allen’s wrist. He hadn’t even moved a fractional amount to lace their fingers together. They hadn’t held hands. 

He’d thought about doing it, though. 

No one can know. That’s the one thing he’s certain about, right now. If he and Allen had come in here and immediately had sex. Well. Bookman probably wouldn’t _approve_ , but he might be appeased. Perhaps if Lavi posited it as some kind of information gathering incident. 

There’s no reason for them to hold hands, though. There’s no reason to _want_ that. 

“Hey Lavi?” 

Again, his reaction to that name. He’d never delighted in ‘Deak’ like this. Maybe he hadn’t even liked his first name this much. Probably because no one had said it like Allen or Lenalee.

“Yeah?” 

“You won.” 

He looks down at the board. The pieces scatter red and black, across spiky triangles. They speak to a meaningless victory.

“Oh, right. Seems as though I did.” 

It’s like turning over a sand dial and feeling time trickle away. Whatever they’d accomplished here is already over. So Lavi smiles as hard as he can, and shrugs. Allen’s trepidation seems to cling to everything. 

“Are you going to stop accusing me of cheating? That’s a relief.” 

Lavi shrugs and flings the dice. They fly, clattering against the wall. One bounces back and knocks Allen in the neck.

“Ow! Hey!” Allen grabs onto the back of his head, and leans forward as if he’s expecting an onslaught. “Don’t be a sore winner!”

“Maybe you let me win just to hide your cheating from before.” Lavi says, and shoves Allen’s shoulder a bit. “I see through you.”

“I’m not doing a third round,” Allen grouses. “You’re clearly in a bad mood.” 

“I’m not in a bad mood. My mood is great.” It’s not even a lie. 

“Then what do you _want_ to do? You said you wanted to get out for the day.” 

“And now I want to stay where I am.” 

That’s when Allen reaches out for him with his normal hand. He touches the side of Lavi’s face, in a gesture reminiscent of Lenalee. But he has none of her grace at this, none of her aptitude. If he looks at Allen’s palm he might find uncertainty etched into it, just like a lifeline. 

Neither of them can abide stillness though. Allen’s traces Lavi’s jawline. Gently, so gently. As though he’s convinced his fingers can tear skin, and leave it bleeding. Then he’s cupping Lavi’s chin. 

Allen inches forward. It would make Lavi laugh somewhat in any other circumstances; this ungainly shuffling on crossed legs. But Lavi’s emotions are beyond words, and that’s what reminds him that this is dangerous. Just before Allen’s lips are on his, Lavi holds up a hand and covers Allen’s mouth. He prevents it from happening.

Allen’s eyes slide left and right, as though trying to escape from the sting of miscalculation. 

They can’t kiss. Kissing seems like something that only belongs in illustrations of fairy tales. It reeks of the consummation of courtly love. There’s no happy ending here. There’s never been a story here at all. Allen is an ink brush of history, Lavi is in the marginalia, and those two things never intersect no matter how far you travel down the page. 

But, like ink and paper, they can share the same space. Right? Those two things create the entire record. 

Lavi just needs to frame everything this way and he won’t be lost. 

Allen is apologizing and smiling against Lavi’s fingers. 

“I think I’m still carried away because of the Ark,” he sounds meticulous, even when his voice is muffled. 

“Allen…” He can’t name this. Neither of them can name this. Every word probably damns him, so he has to use them sparingly. 

He can feel it. Allen is ready to bolt. Ready to apply action to his contrition. 

It’s Lavi’s turn to do some touching. His hand slides down Allen’s neck. That throat works almost as quickly as a pulse. Or maybe like he’s trying to swallow.

_Yeah, well, Allen is always hungry, isn’t he?_

From there, he latches onto both of Allen’s shoulders, down and down. Over rib cage and abdomen, ending at hipbones. Even through two shirts, the plethora of bandages are so obvious. 

When Allen returned, Lavi had first glimpsed him through writhing smoke. Allen had first seemed as insubstantial as a silhouette, and it had taken Lavi the better part of an hour to fully trust that he was real. 

But something intrinsic about Allen has changed after all that time away. Sometimes it’s like Allen has already left. 

Not yet. He hasn’t left yet. Lavi is able to slide his hands under Allen’s shirt. Now he can feel those bandages, stiff and antiseptic and human. Allen’s skin is warm, and his pulse is a jumpy tempo. Feeling this is like seeing sunlight streaming in through the window, reaching out, and discovering that it’s a solid thing.

Allen clearly hasn’t been touched much outside of battle. Sometimes he seems to sway into Lavi’s slow movements, and sometimes he stiffens like he’s asking for too much. But then his hands sink into Lavi’s hair, and Allen’s eyes close. His face exemplifies world-weary contentment, and it’s the most nakedly honest thing Lavi’s seen from him yet. It’s an afterthought when he gets Allen out of his shirt mere moments later. 

Allen returns the favor. He’s not nearly as leisurely about it. He tugs at the cloth on Lavi’s shoulders until he’s made his point. Lavi gives thanks that the ace of spades is not with him at the moment. 

Now they’re naked from the waist up, and Lavi wonders if he’s shivering. His bones seem to freeze whenever the two of them aren’t touching. Allen’s hands thoughtfully explore Lavi’s torso; both arms are two different textures, but all leading to one purpose. Lavi leans over Allen until they sprawl out on the floor. Lying on their sides and reaching out for one another. 

So many angles and curves, grand and minute. So many cuts and scratches. Lavi acts like a calligrapher, running his fingers in patterns over Allen’s body. No language- living or dead- is enough to transcribe how he feels. It doesn’t help that he was wrong; Allen isn’t monochromatic at all. Like this he can see the yellowing bruises, the purple red of deep cuts. Slightly darker areas of skin flowing into areas untouched by the sun. 

Then Allen kisses Lavi. Not on the lips, no, but his lips find their Lavi’s neck. Allen sucks hard until it stings, and it seems less about desire and more about finding an outlet. Allen’s nails dig into Lavi’s shoulder. 

That will probably leave a mark. 

Lavi maneuvers Allen onto his back and starts to lick the same paths as before. Allen twists a little, and his gasping breaths allow Lavi to think it’s entirely from pleasure. 

Until; “um, Lavi, I have game pieces digging into my back.” 

Oh. 

“What, that wasn’t doing it for you?”

“No, I’m not into pain.” 

“… You really have seen a lot in the world haven’t you?”

“More than I wanted to, believe me.”

Then, incredibly, after all these minutes of frenzied silence, they start to laugh. In fact, they crack up and, if there’s a touch of hysteria in it, there’s a healthy dose of fun, too. After they brush the pieces aside, Lavi strokes Allen’s back until the impressions of dice fade. 

“You don’t make a very good game board Allen.” 

Allen is lying down again. One of his arms is casually splayed over his head. Although he looks relaxed, Lavi wonders what might happen if he stands up. Puts up his shirt and walks on. Walks away. What would they do next?

Probably nothing. And that was the problem.

“This is a pretty good game, though,” Allen says, unsmiling now. His eyes are over bright until he blinks and the gleam is gone. 

If they name what they’re doing, they risk breaking the spell. 

There are some good was to avoid speaking. Avoid naming things. Lavi holds himself over Allen until their legs tangle together. With one hand he grabs Allen’s upper arm, and with his other he keeps Allen’s wrist above his head. 

And he lowers his face down onto Allen’s.

For a while, it’s like their kiss annihilates all of Lavi’s scriptures. They don’t have promises or obligations. There’s just the movements of their lips. There’s the warmth of Allen’s tongue. There’s everything he’d been hoping to avoid.

He doesn’t think Allen has done this before, but he’s flinging himself into it. It’s obvious in the way his hips arch up, pressing his lower body against Lavi’s. He kisses hard. Almost greedily. And his hand roams up and down Lavi’s back with such affection. 

“You know, we could use the bed,” Allen says after wrenching his face away. He still tries to sound sedate. Lavi admires that, even if it’s a partial success. 

Initially, the request registers as a matter of practicality. Of _course_ they should lie down there. The floor is rough on Lavi’s limbs, and he can only imagine what it’s doing to Allen’s back. There’s also the matter of game pieces, and how they’re still strewn across the floor. 

When they’ve both clambered onto the mattress, though, Lavi realizes he’s miscalculated. Spontaneous kissing while sprawled out on the floor. Well. You could call that “fooling around,” maybe. Something benign. It’s much more of a commitment to go to bed, somehow. It’s much more of a commitment to see Allen’s head on that pillow, his teeth worrying at his lower lip, sweat beading his clavicles. 

“Are you okay?” It’s definitely a commitment to run his fingers through Allen’s bangs like this. 

“Yeah.” And then Allen covers his face and sneezes. “The bed smells a little like mothballs though.” He won’t pull his hands away.

So Lavi does that for him. 

When they touch each other now, Lavi pays more attention to sensation. The warmth of the human skin, the eerie texture of Allen’s innocence. As strange as any surface within the ark. Allen pulls Lavi back down into a kiss (really, Allen must be ravenous, always). In the process, one of Allen’s thumbs accidentally slides into the loop of Lavi’s earring. They laugh again, once they realize this. 

“Did that hurt?” Allen asks. He tugs a little before withdrawing. Though he doesn’t seem particularly worried. 

“Are you sure you aren’t into pain, Allen?”

“Well not my _own._ ” 

And not anyone else’s, really. Apparently Lavi is the exception. It’s strangely flattering that Allen feels comfortable enough needling him a little. He rolls his shoulders and feels the slight sting from Allen’s fingernails.

“The ear is a sensitive area, look.” Lavi kisses the top of Allen’s ear. There’s a silent gasp- more of an uptick of Allen’s chest- so Lavi sucks a little too. Now his companion is making audible sounds.

Lavi is taking too long at this. Savoring it far too much. He kisses Allen again, mostly to avoid the temptation of laughing together.

They act like they have an abundance of time when they roll around. Pulling down pants and kissing everywhere but the areas most in need of attention. Reveling in this temporary ceasefire, this total lack of boundaries. 

At one point Allen bites the back of Lavi’s knuckles. The same knuckles that sends up phantom sparks of pain from time to time. The knuckles that punched the ship’s wall after Allen had disappeared. 

Allen had been erased and then he had returned. He studies Allen the way he might examine a newly unearthed, ancient scroll. He touches him until Allen isn’t capable of speech at all. Just moans that he buries into Lavi’s shoulder. He’s holding on the way he did in the ark. When Allen starts to fall apart, though, Lavi maneuvers things so that they’re face-to-face. He has to know. He has to memorize this hidden history. 

After, though, he realizes the extent of his miscalculation. Allen is rested and replete, while Lavi is still unfulfilled. Tense, almost electric. He cedes ground the way he’s been ceding ground since they first meant. This means being steered onto his back. It means acknowledging his joy and relief as Allen starts to kiss his way down Lavi’s body. 

Lavi has to cover his mouth to keep from begging. Not for release. He wants to demand that Allen make this last and last, so that they never have to crawl out of this moment. Never have to deal with the repercussions. 

There’s something in Allen’s eyes, though. A more benign version of dark Allen. A sign that he _knows_. Lavi floats in pleasure for a long, long time, until even this must end. 

Allen doesn’t ask anything after. Certainly no demands. 

They just hold each other for a while, sweaty, and sticky, and golden as the sun sets outside. It’s fading in Allen’s hair. 

“I’m glad I got to see you again,” Lavi says, and there’s a knife in his throat. The ace of spades is in his throat. 

“I’m glad I found my way back.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, the stuff about backgammon is real.


End file.
